


It's a Fine, Fine Line

by KissTheBoy7



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Awkward Public Boners, Awkward Sexual Situations, Established Relationship, Foreplay, Insults, M/M, its mostly just implied don't get too excited, off-screen public sex at the end there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2495573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheBoy7/pseuds/KissTheBoy7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The insults come as a build-in part of their relationship. Now it’s become their Thing. It’s all a game, like everything else between them - because, well, they’re both so fond of games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Fine, Fine Line

**Author's Note:**

> for the (simplified) prompt: kings w/ insults as foreplay & awkward public boners

The insults come as a build-in part of their relationship, before there even  _was_  a relationship. It’s just the way they are, what they’re used to. Freddie says something incredibly offensive, with that sneer of his, and Anatoly snarks something right back, and inevitably they end up against a wall or the sink or toppling onto the bed, kissing hard and hungry and tearing at each other’s clothes.

Now it’s become their Thing. It’s all a game, like everything else between them - because, well, they’re both so fond of  _games_.

And sex.

They’re also both pretty fond of the sex.

* * *

 

The first time he Freddie starts to realize the power he has they’re sitting on the couch together, Freddie’s head in Anatoly’s lap. He’s being ignored in favor of the seven o’ clock news and it’s so  _aggravating_ how easy it’s always been for Anatoly, to just look away and pretend he’s not there pinching his thigh and pouting.

Freddie thrives on attention. He likes to think that he just hadn’t gotten enough of it, as a kid, and this is his way of making up for lost time.

"Tolya," he mutters, wrinkling his nose as Anatoly’s fingers absently begin threading through his hair again. As if  _that_ were going to be enough to appease him. “ _Tolya._  Nobody cares about Wall Street. Look at me.”

"Shh, Freddie," he murmurs without ever looking away from the screen. His thumb is rubbing slow circles just beneath Freddie’s ear and - oh -  that feels…  _mmmm…_

Freddie arches his neck back into it, pressing insistently into his hands and squirming. “You’re such a fucking prick,” he complains, reaching blindly for a pillow and swinging it at his face. “No wonder your wife divorced you, you have your priorities totally backwards-“

"Asshole." Anatoly scowls as he bats it away but Freddie just beams, because  _yes, look at me motherfucker._

"Suck me off you foreign bastard," he simpers, steepling his fingers over his stomach and rubbing his head deliberately back against his lap. Anatoly shifts as though to push him off, annoyed. His cheeks are pink.

"You are not making a good case for yourself," he mutters, eyes narrowed, but he doesn’t look away and Freddie grabs his wrist to drag it to his face, licking obscenely at his fingers. Anatoly groans and jerks his hand away, wiping it on Freddie’s shirt.

"God damn it, Freddie-"

"Are you impotent or something? Because I can get a dildo. Or-"

"Shut up." Anatoly has his wrists clasped tightly in one hand, mouth screwed up like he’s sucking on a lemon. Freddie misses a beat before he realizes that he’s pouting, and then he’s laughing, hysterical, thrashing out of his grip and tumbling over the side of the couch.

"Am I going to have to have a talk with Svetlana? Should I ask her how she survived all those years living with a prudish -"

"Would you do me a favor and  _stop_ bringing my wife into our sex life?”

Freddie drags himself off the floor, still sporting that shit-eating grin, and nuzzles against Anatoly’s knee. “There’s always Viagra, sweetheart,” he sneers. “Don’t give up yet.”

“ _Fuck you,”_ Anatoly grits out, and suddenly Freddie is being yanked forward by his hair, yelping, nose pressed into Anatoly’s crotch.

_Jesus Christ, he’s hard._

"Mmmh… you’re still a prick," he breathes, breath ghosting hot and moist over the straining denim.

Suddenly, though, he has better ideas of what he could be doing with his mouth.

Judging by the gasping-moaning-groaning he hears as he bobs his head down once, twice, and tightens his fingers around his thighs, this was exactly what Anatoly had in mind.

"Whore," Anatoly gasps weakly when he comes, a half-assed comeback if there ever was one. Freddie just licks his lips and smirks up at him, already clambering up into his lap.

"My turn, asshole."

* * *

 

It doesn’t  _seem_  all that strange. After all, the first time they’d fucked it had been explosive, spitting curses and biting and licking and tugging at each other’s clothes, because  _it’s a fine line_ is a gross understatement, as far as Freddie is concerned, and with Anatoly it had almost been like there was no line there to begin with.

Just sweat and swallowed groans and bitten-off insults, the ache of future bruises. That’s it. That’s them, that’s all Freddie had been able to think about since he’d first sat across the board from this  _asshole._

God, Anatoly  _is_  an asshole. But so is Freddie. And he loves it.

They’re perfect together because they know exactly what they are, and when the storm is over there are smiles, tentative, and a coffee date in the morning.

Freddie doesn’t know how he ended up sneaking Anatoly aboard his flight back to the states like contraband, but he can’t really say he’s been manipulated. Besides, he gets to snarl and call him a _sneaky Russian bastard_ while he’s being fucked bent halfway over the sink in the tiny airplane bathroom.

All in all, he counts it as a win.

* * *

 

He doesn’t  _seriously_ think that Anatoly is all that affected by it until they’re lying in bed, panting and twined together after what Freddie thinks is possibly the most incredible sex he’s ever had, and he happens to groan against his neck. “You’re such a piece of shit.”

It’s just one of those things Freddie says - it’s their Thing, after all, and he’s allowed.

Anatoly has never done anything more than smack Freddie across the back of the head for calling him an adulterer and a heathen bastard and an illegal immigrant. (the last one isn’t technically true, but Freddie loves to prod him where it’s least comfortable)

But now he groans and shoves him away, hard.

"Hey!" How  _rude._  Freddie sits up on his elbows just to glare at him, hair still matted to his head with sweat, chest heaving. “What the fuck? Are we not allowed to cuddle, now?”

"I can only go so many times in a span of two hours, Freddie," Anatoly mutters, muffled through his fingers. He’s covering his face and for a moment Freddie almost can’t see any good reason why -

"Are you blushing?" Incredulously, he rolls on top of him and pries the offending digits away from his lover’s face, giving a short laugh. "I didn’t say I  _wanted_ to go again, but if that’s a challenge…”

"Please stop," Anatoly groans, grimacing up at the ceiling. Freddie can feel the length of his cock pressed tight up against his thigh in this position, half-hard but twitching, still sticky.

The tingle that shoots up his spine goes right to his head and he licks his lips, cocking his head.

"Stop what."

"That tone - Jesus, Freddie, just shut your mouth and give me a minute," he begs, but Freddie’s eyes are widening. He grins.

"Does it make you horny when I tell you to go fuck yourself?" he purrs, and the whole thing is ridiculous and juvenile but Anatoly flushes down his chest and it’s so pretty and his cock is  _right there._

As it turns out, he does have one more round in him before they collapse in a sticky heap and call it a night.

* * *

 

It would just be unlike Freddie to pass up the opportunity to humiliate his boyfriend in front of their only mutual friend.

Neither of them is overly fond of leaving the apartment - their mutual hatred of small talk is another reason that Freddie is relatively convinced they’re soulmates, in an unconventional sort of way - but sometimes it can’t be helped. Like grocery day, and laundry day, and every other Friday when Florence drags them both out to the mall so they can sit down near the Starbucks kiosk and keep her updated on their dreary lives.

"You would think that by now she’d be sick of us," Anatoly grumbles under his breath, hands jammed into his pockets as they dodge through packs of giggling middle schoolers. Freddie clutches his arm at the elbow, steering him, smirking.

"But  _Anatoly,_ I thought that maintaining good relationships with your exes was  _important,”_ he mocks, glancing at him slyly out of the corner of his eye. “Unless you’ve finally resigned yourself to being a deadbeat, alimony-dodging  _sleaze_?” Now that he knows how easy it is to make him squirm it’s even more satisfying to watch him tense after every insult, knowing exactly what it is making him snappish.

"That only applies if you have children with them," Anatoly shoots back at him without batting an eye. Damn it. Freddie forgets, sometimes, that they’re equally good actors.

"Right, right. I forgot you had standards… you don’t normally act like it." He snorts, shaking his head.

It goes on, back and forth, like a lazy verbal tennis match, but Freddie gets sadistic pleasure out of feeling the tendons tense as Anatoly clenches and unclenches his fist, silently frustrated.

"At least I never slept with my assistant."

"No one ever said I slept with her. I’d never slept with anyone before you." Freddie laughs at the bare shock on his face as he whips his head up at that, eyes wide with disbelief. "What? You think because you’re a whore everyone else is?"

He lowers his voice, smirking coyly. “No one had any doubts that  _you_ were a slut, don’t worry.”

"Christ, Freddie -" he grits out, but he can’t seem to form anything more coherent.

Florence is waving at them from their table closest to the Bath and Body Works. Freddie drags a spluttering Anatoly happily along with him and silently snickers at the way he crosses his legs quickly as he sits down, tense and digging his nails into his palms.

"You took your time," she comments dryly, hardly even paying attention to Anatoly and his discomfort. Freddie smirks again.

"Some  _asshole_  wouldn’t get out of the bathroom.” He nudges Anatoly hard with his elbow, hearing the way he exhales a sharp, helpless breath.

"I would believe that." Florence sips at her iced coffee and looks between them, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "I’m surprised you didn’t just tell him to find his own damn ride to the mall. It’s unlike you to be so patient, Freddie."

He sticks his tongue out at her, very maturely. “I’m offended. I’ve grown up a lot in the past year, Florence,” he says solemnly.

"And I’m very proud of you, Freddie," she teases, patting the back of his hand. She glances at Anatoly again, seemingly amused. "You go order, I think you’ve pissed him off."

"Can do." He gets up and tugs at one of Anatoly’s curls, satisfied with the half-hearted glare he receives in return, and waltzes off to get in line. By the time he returns with his extra-special order, Florence is nowhere to be found, and Anatoly looks as though he could die right where he’s sitting.

"What did you do with her?" Freddie demands, sucking the straw back into his mouth. Anatoly looks up at him, red-faced and a little horrified.

"She said that we should go ‘take care of some things’ and we could get together next week instead." Freddie snorts, swallowing with difficulty and falling back into his seat. Anatoly continues, eye twitching. "She recommended the Macy’s changing rooms."

Freddie laughs so hard that he cries, and in between tearful gasps and Anatoly’s murderous glare, manages to grab a hold of his elbow again and drag him out of his seat.

"Well? What are we waiting for, then? Lead the way."

Anatoly looks at him incredulously. He purses his lips for a moment, thinking, and then adds with a shit-eating grin, “Prick.”

"You’re going to hell," Anatoly seethes, but he grabs his hand and yanks him toward the Macy’s entrance, and Freddie finally stops laughing long enough to feel the heat crawl into his veins.

This has been fun. He should provoke Anatoly more often.

"Did she mention your dick, or couldn’t she see it without a microscope?"

"Freddie - shut.  _Up._ ” _  
_

"Only if you make me, fuckface."

It’s a good thing that Anatoly knows a great variety of uses for the tie around his neck. (now in Freddie’s mouth) It’s also a good thing that no one comes to investigate when the door groans in tie with Anatoly and Freddie pushes back with a muffled whine against his hips, reaching back blindly to claw at his back.

Once again, he chalks this up as a  _personal victory._

If there’s one thing Freddie knows how to do, it’s act like an asshole. He just never expected it to reap such  _satisfying_  rewards…


End file.
